ey reached the camping-place, where the fires were still burning,
dried their guns, put in new priming, and started once more, Rogers in
front, Stark bringing up the rear.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon. Rogers descended a hill, crossed a
brook, and was picking his way up another hill, when he found himself
face to face with more than two hundred French and Indians, the nearest
not twenty feet distant.

A volley. Lieutenant Kennedy and John Gardiner fall dead; a bullet
glances from Rogers's skull, for a moment taking away his senses; the
blood flows down his face, blinding him. Several other Rangers are
wounded.

"Form here."

Lieutenant Stark issues the order, and the Rangers under his command
take position on a little hill. The Rangers down in the valley fire a
volley at the French, holding their ground till all the wounded can make
their way back to Stark's position.

Rogers wipes the blood from his face, and issues his orders.

"You are to command the centre," he says to Stark.

He sends Sergeants Walker and Phillips with eight men to the rear, to
give notice of any attempt of the enemy to crawl round and attack from
that direction.

"Don't throw away your ammunition; keep cool; don't expose yourselves,"
are the orders, and each Ranger takes position behind a tree. They know
that the enemy outnumber them three to one, that they have had the
advantage of the first fire; but each Ranger prepares to fight to the
bitter end.

Round through the woods steal a part of the French and Indians, making a
wide circuit. Major Rogers reasoned correctly, and he posted the two
sergeants in the right place. The eight Rangers pick off the French one
by one, giving them such a warm reception that instead of rushing on,
they remain at a distance.

The other French, with a horde of Indians howling the war-whoop, begin
the attack in front, the Indians springing from tree to tree, getting
nearer and nearer. But the Rangers are on the watch, and many of the
savages leap into the air and fall dead, or crawl away, leaving bloody
trails upon the snow.

"If you will surrender, we will give you good quarter," shouts the
French commander.

Major Rogers was faint from the loss of blood, and at the moment was
faint-hearted. He feared that the Rangers would all be picked off before
the fight would cease. It would be three hours to sunset. Could they
hold out till then? He had no thought of surrendering, but would it not
be be